


Oceans

by BenevolentFae



Category: Step Up Series - Fandom, Step up: high water
Genre: F/M, Step Up Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-12-06 21:45:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18225809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenevolentFae/pseuds/BenevolentFae
Summary: Step up: High Water fic. S2E2, after the Luau. Imagining if that cute scene dancing to Ocean by TK Kravitz didn't end the way it did...





	1. Plummeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER:
> 
> I don't own anything, all rights go to the wonderful Step Up family. I make no money off of this, Im just a dreamer enjoying my time by plucking things from a perfect plot, so anything you recognize, such as quotes, are credit to the writers.
> 
> I've also Never really written something so roughly before, and it's semi unedited. Eventually, I do plan to rework it, so consider this the rougher than rough draft. I'm team Poppy, But she did things wrong, and I have a lot of feelings (also, if you ever get the chance to talk to Terrence Green, he is full of feelings about it lmao)

**One moment I'm giving her a ride home, trying to ignore the way her skintight outfit with colourful frills is driving me insane, and the next I'm dancing circles around the car because I can't listen to her talk about Rigo for another second.**  She complains, of course, doing that little tongue click that she does. Has done since we were kids. Normally it irks me, but right now all I hear is the way my name drips from her lips like poetry. If I was honest, things with her had been on the delectable cusp of something more for quite some time now, but I've always been nothing if not loyal. Shadows passing behind sneaky glances that lingered slightly too long. A flirty flip of her hair or a casual compliment. Perfectly innocent details, so easily missed. Rigo sure had It was basic chemistry, and if we didn't talk about it, it wasn't there, right? 

Only.. this woman, this queen, with rounded curves and a passionate voice long before I was even aware that I had something to say, knew me better than anyone. Once upon a time she'd drawn me in like a lighthouse, and I've been orbiting her ever since, always within radius but never quite touching. She would obliterate me, sometimes she did so without even trying. Poppy was the grounding factor in my constant chaos. So much has changed these last few years, hell, the last few days, but she never did; it's always been easy with her. She still lights up the mood, the room, the whole damn world with her fire. But she's not a little girl anymore, and I'm equally as grown, and I can feel the pot bubbling over without being stirred. So I crank the beat up and do my best to distract her from that boy she's been calling her man. I'd quit if she seriously told me to, she knows it, but soon I'm riding a familiar high as her teeth peek out from behind full lips. She lets me tug her from the leather seat, leaving me only half surprised, but entirely thrilled. And true to god, the world melts away, all the shit and the pressure tossed aside, until it's just her and I and the music. I lift her up onto my tailgate, partially to show her that she's light to me, not weighted down by the burdens that Rigo pins on her, but mostly because I can't keep my hands off her. It's hard to remember where we are with her palms gliding over my chest, that this moment that feels so wildly intimate is taking place right there in her driveway. Electricity is humming dangerously through the space between us, catching me off guard. It's like a switch was flipped, and she's bending over for me, making my hands ache to trace her skin. I'm caught up in worshipping her, a goddess right here in Atlanta. She must have felt it too, because she pushes me away with a mischevious smirk, and I'm grinning back thinking that she's so fucking beautiful. I'm wondering how I'm going to keep enough distance while she's drawing me in like a force of nature, but she suddenly falls so in sync with my body that I can't tell if she's following my lead or the other way around. Before either of us can think better of it I'm bracing my waist beneath her as she takes control, grinding above me, and I barely fight back a groan. Don't go there, I warm myself. This is just dancing. 

Something shifts in her, and it's incredibly clear who's holding all the power, which of us has the other hooked. I'm not sure anymore who I'm battling for control, her or my salacious thoughts, but when I snap my hips up she takes it, and she doesn't even bat an eye. There's a loaded heat behind her half lidded gaze, that palpable, unspoken thing growing thicker than ever between us. For once, here in the open where anyone could see, we forget for a second to hide. All the tension comes full throttle, completely unearthed, and I can't make heads from tails anymore. My entire self is all wrapped up in the entirety of her. The wind catches in my throat when she drops down before me, every ounce of loyalty draining faster than she can snake her way back up. Not a damn thing exists but Poppy, and the way she feels against me, and that fucking sweetness in the air that trails behind her everywhere she goes. Her hands hit my chest before my back hits the car, and I'm winded for reasons that have nothing to do with the impact. Just when I'm certain she's going to call it a night and send me home, she's sidling her way back into my arms, and the cool night air makes her all that much warmer when my fingers encircle her hips.

 **One moment ago we were just two people who knew each other inside and out and down to the studs, dancing a night away, and the next we're playing with wildfire.**  I wonder if she's burning up inside the same way that I am right now, but I don't dare to ask her. If this moment ends, I think I might never recover, which is a realization that hits me like a ton of bricks. She's flat against me, inching closer still as though she could press herself beneath my skin. As if she wasn't already there. Like gravity itself radiates from her lips, I'm dipping my neck down. I'm expecting her to stiffen, to retract, to extricate herself from my gasp and go home, but she doesn't. Rather, her face contorts into a picture perfect depiction of devotion battling desire, but she's staring at my mouth like she's already lost. My insides are twisting, screaming at me for breaking the unspoken pact with a man I love like a brother. Everything in me is begging me not to cross this line, to ruin a great thing, but I'm shoving it down with every inch forward. My eyes devour the flicker of pink as her tongue darts subconsciously over her lips, expectant, and I know in that moment that even if she turns me away, we can't go back. But I hesitate, leaving the decision up to her, because as much as I want her, I need her to choose me too.

"We can't do this," she whispers, and I barely hear it over the cracking of my heart.

"Yeah," I agree, refusing to be the one to break the contact. "It wouldn't be right."

It wouldn't be, but I'm not sure if that's because she has a boyfriend, or if there's just certain lines that you don't cross. It's hard to tell, hard to think, hard to acknowledge anything but her sweet breath on my skin. She still sort of smells like those two Pina coladas. Maybe that's all this is, a minor blip due to a little bit of alcohol. I let the ball of my thumb sketch spirals into the full fabric of her skirt anyway, unable to resist widening the pattern a little so I can feel the exposed skin above it. She stutters a breath at the small static contact, and I'm practically gasping for air, because she still hasn't moved away. I almost close my eyes at the exotic scrape of her manicured nails on the nape of my neck, clawing away at my resolve. I force myself to hold them open, afraid I'll blink and miss it, and this moment with her will be gone. She's somehow pushed me to the ledge, where I'm fighting tooth and claw to hang on, and all she's doing is breathing. I'm at the breaking point when little seeds of doubt start seeping through the cracks, blooming tenfold; We shouldn't be here, feeling like this, together. She wasn't his, maybe she wasn't anyone's, but Rigo had some pieces of her that I had no right to tread through. There was history between them, more than there was between us, and I was a fool for forgetting it. I should pull away, she should go inside, I should go ho-

 **One moment my confidence is morphing into misery, and the next her mouth is on mine.**  Kissing Poppy is euphoric. Few things have ever been this good, and I'm certain then that she's ruined me for anybody else. She leans back, leaving me craving her, tense for the rebuff. Except she doesn't tell me to go, doesn't break down over what we've already done and demand it go no further. Instead, her husky voice mumbles that her mother isn't home, won't be all night. Then she's leading me backwards towards the front door, never breaking contact, and I give up trying to fight back the groans now. As she sweeps me across the threshold, she spins us around. For all that tough fronting she puts on everyday, I never imagined she'd be anything but heat and honey, but my back is against the door as she rains an avalanche of kisses on every inch of my skin. For a while I just let her have her way with me, until her teeth mark the spot where my shoulder meets my throat. That's when I snap. God I'm hungry for this, starving for a taste of her. Poppy moves along to my frenzied rhythm like we're still just dancing, and my feet carry us to her bedroom without missing a beat. Thankfully, I know her house like the back of my hand, despite the subtle changes. Just like me, they have her signature all over them. Her bedroom has matured the most, but I push it to the deepest corners of my mind so that it's only broadcasting Poppy, and how her hands are tickling the hem of my shirt. I ignore it as she urges me to peel the material from my overheating chest. I pretend not to see her flip a framed photo face down on her dresser, knowing exactly who and what is on it.

"Poppy," I breathe, like she's all that sustains me. "Are you sure?"

She giggles, an exuberant, carefree little thing that bubbles up from her gut. "Boy, shut up."

I can't help but smile, but then the uptick of my lips is gone and I can feel my eyes darken. The shift must have caught her off guard, I muse as she stumbles backwards until her thighs hit the edge of her bed. All it takes is one little nudge and I've got Poppy splayed out before me. My pupils blow wide and my lungs constrict at the way her hair is sprawled out above her like a goddamn crown. She leans up on her elbows, tugging me close by my offensive shirt, so that I have to crawl over her body. Insecurities dance behind her retinas, and I instantly feel like I'm shielding her from the world at my back. I roam her curves from top to bottom while she gasps and moans, unsatisfied to the point of squirming. I take my time anyway, telling her she's beautiful while I do my best to prove it.

"Take this off, Dre," she keens. It's a half tortured plea, one that I finally oblige.

I start fiddling with my belt too, but her perfect ebony hands reach out to stop me. Poppy tugs me down onto my back beside her, rising from the bed. With one arm braced behind my head, and the other draped lazily over my lap, I drink in the sight of her. She's teasing me now, putting on a show, swaying to the song that's inside her head. I'm aching for friction, but she's so worth the wait that I can't bring myself to provide it. Not until I've brought her there first. She touches all the spots that I want to, pulls off each shred of clothing at an agonizingly slow pace.

"You're trying to kill me, right?" I grunt, surprised by how raspy it sounds.

I've been seeing her inside and out for as long as I can remember, but not once was she ever this naked for me. It's almost better than sex, I think, just to watch her private performance. At least, it's enough for a moment, but then she's straggling my waist, her panties adding pressure in all the right spots, and I can't take it. I gotta have her. Just as I twitch my arms up to get a feel of her, she's pinning them down with a shake of her head. Poppy's eyes, full of hellish intentions, disappear beneath the halo of curls as she dips forward, that distracting little tongue paying all the same attention to my skin that I'd peppered over hers. It's my turn to pine, the sweetest form of agony I've ever endured. Her name gets lost in translation spilling from my throat when she drags her nails above my waistband. All the space in my jeans vanishes right where I need it the most, a fact that has her grinning ear to ear. Poppy sucks a purple bruise there, imprinting the shape of her lips, and I nearly cum from the thought of it. I'm about to tell her to quit playing, but I bite my tongue. There's a brief moment of relief as I feel my zipper sliding, but it isn't nearly enough. She curls her fingers under the fabric and tugs, while I thrust my hips up to help her. She takes everything down with it, chuckling when they get stuck around my calves.

"Why are these so tight?"

I just shrug, flashing her what I know is her favorite smirk. "You seen this face? Gotta protect myself somehow," I chirp. She rolls her eyes when I waggle my brows.

Poppy crawls back up my body, planting herself in my lap. This time she doesn't stop my roaming hands, arching her back as she rolls her hips down. There's no more jokes after that, just the melodies pouring from her vocal chords and the wet slapping of skin where I've pulled her panties aside. I take my time pushing my fingers into her, and I hold up my tempo until her legs shake and she's winding into me. I try to capture the image of her head thrown back, her brows netting together while I bring her to heaven. I drag the pleasure out of her until she's pushing at my wrists and trying to wiggle away, smug that it's my name she's whining. I bat her hand away when they sneak downwards, plopping her down onto the mattress.

"Hey," she squeals playfully.

My knees hitting the floor effectively shuts her up, but then my tongue replaces my fingers and I'm beyond grateful that her mom is out. I follow her cues, noting that she likes it when I flatten my tongue, but her hips shoot off the bed when I get to the second letter of my name. I have to wrap my arms around her like a cage, clasping our fingers together when she gets close. Maybe she just needed something to hold on to, but I'm glad that it was me. She's already so sensitive that it doesn't take long before she's writhing her way to bliss again. The kiss Poppy plants on me is needy and rushed, and I jut out my jaw as she wraps her palms around me. All it takes is a few pumps of her fist and I lose all the power I've just leeched from her orgasms. Before I can tell up from down past the stars I'm seeing, she's got me beneath her again, lining me up with her wet, hot slit.

 **One moment I'm trying to ask her again if she's sure, but I only manage to get the first part out, because the next she's sinking herself down onto me.**  I fill her to the brink, and she squeezes me so tight that I can't think anything but ' _fuck_ ,' and ' _shit_ ,' and ' _you feel so amazing_ '. I tell her as much, but I must take too long to get my composure. She shoves my shoulders down and starts to ride me. It's slow, languid, but her hips lift until I'm sure the tip is going to pop out, before she drives herself down to the hilt. I buck up hard into her, and she cries my name like a desperate prayer. So I do it again, and again, moving faster until I can't tell what she's even trying to say anymore. When her tight heat shudders around me, we both come undone, unraveling into nothing more than a sweaty pile of bliss.

...

 **One moment it's the most mind-blowing night of my life, and the next the memory of her, of us and what we did, is haunting me every second since**. Things got weird, like we should have expected they would. Except we didn't think that far. Hell, we barely thought it through at all. Now I'm hating myself more and more each time I ignore her advances. Truth is though, I haven't been answering her calls and leaving her on read because I don't have a damn clue what I could say. It's like every time our eyes meet I'm making a beeline in the other direction, needing to create distance between us just to keep my hands off her. But all this space just leaves extra room for a rampant and thorough reliving of it. It's all I can do to press my palms into my eye sockets and fist my sheets until dawn, holding myself back. After a few days she must get sick of it, and she stops trying. Starts running the other way too, like she can't even stand the sight of me. I wish I was man enough to drive to her house and make her tell me what she's thinking. I gotta know how she's feeling, what this meant, what we can do to move on from this. But I'm starting to wonder if I even want that, to simply move forwards as nothing but her friend. So I don't go to her house, instead choosing to go crazy, because that's what's best for her. At least, I'm hoping, but it's impossible to say when she's gotten so good at ghosting me right back. In all my life I've never had to do without Poppy, and that fucks me up more than I thought anything could.

It's by pure luck and divine intervention that I catch her as she's coming out of the dressing room. She barrels into me, no doubt rushing off in hopes of avoiding this talk, and I instinctively wrap my arms around her. Her head whips around to confirm that nobody saw us, as though it would instantly give that night away. She tries to pull away, murmuring low that her Mama's waiting on her. I almost roll my eyes. Anyone who's met Poppy's mother would know that she wouldn't be caught dead showing support for her daughter's dancing dreams, and that included picking her up.

"Woah, hey hey hey," I splutter, drawing her back. Her ochre eyes fall everywhere but on my own, and she pushes out one hip impatiently. "We really not going to talk about this?"

Her palms raise up defeated. "About what, Dre?"

"You know what," I whisper, a heady mixture of incredulity and frustration.

"Alright look," she begins, clicking her tongue. "Clearly it was a mistake. It will not happen again, and, don't worry, if anyone asks it never happened at all. You're off the hook."

"So that's how it is, huh?" I recoil from her, like touching her is enough to cause third degree burns.

"I guess. What do you want me to say," she gripes.

I nod once at her, smiling without any traces of humor. "It's okay, I get it."

Even though she looks guilt ridden for it, she shoves her way around me. Just before she's out of earshot I call her name.

"Yeah for the record though, it wasn't a mistake for me."

Her lips part, but I'm already stalking off in the opposite direction. Later, if I see her frantic apologies blowing up my phone, I don't respond. And If I hoped that she would show up at my door despite it, I'll never admit it to either way of us.


	2. Deterrent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little from Poppy's side. Again, I plan to rework this and polish it out one day. But I mostly need to get it out and find my direction, because I am WINGING it thicker than my eyeliner people. Thanks for reading!
> 
> See previous chapter for disclaimer, and support the show by getting YouTube Premium, rewatching it a million times, using hashtags, Sharing it, and following the cast and crew!

Class is grueling, vigorous work and oceans of sweat flowing in swift currents. We're swimming in a heady mix of boneless exhaustion and unshakable determination by the end of it, huge smiles plastered across our faces. These days, it's the only thing taking my mind off of what happened. Although it's not quite perfect when the day is done, we all leave the room feeling satisfied with the progress. Some days it seems like Sage has us taking on too much, and that we'll never be ready. Other days, like today, we can't help but remember why we begged and battled for this opportunity in the first place. Why we specifically were given this chance. We do one final run-through before I'm shooting off like a rocket, packing my bag and heading for the door. I don't even stop to change in my haste to avoid Dondre. Seeing him during lessons has been hard enough, since he's all but ghosted me the entire week since the incident. The worst part is that I can't tell if what happened was just a meaningless fuck, or if it meant something to him. It sure felt like making love to me.. I plan to avoid him the same way he has been doing, because it's just a lot that we don't need to be focusing on with the tour coming up. If I were being honest, it really fucking hurts that he could push me aside so easily. That he couldn't even talk about it. But luck has never been on my side, not since day one. I recognize the unique smell of him before it registers that we've collided. He's got his arms around me faster than I can pull away, his deep timbre cooing apologies that sound like sweet nothings in my ear.

"Look, my Mama's waiting on me," I mumble, checking over my shoulder for curious ears. It's a lie though, and he's met my mom, so he knows it. "I'll catch you later."

Something pinches between my heart and my ribcage as he begs me to wait, drawing me back in like he always does. Only, it's different now, because we crossed a line. He made me a cheater, and I let him. Hell, I fucking  _encouraged_  it. Those warm eyes of his suddenly hold more memories than I'm prepared for, little flickers of intimacy mingling with his tender shades of brown, and I can't seem to hold his gaze for the life of me. They're asking for answers I can't give, explanations I don't have.

Dondre sounds almost defeated, but still he presses me closer. "We really not going to talk about this?"

"About  _what_ , Dre?" I don't mean to snap, it's just that my palms are sweating and my lungs are weak. He doesn't look the same as he did before. There's more to him, a side I should have never seen, not when I was tied to someone else.

"You know what," he whispers.

"Alright look. Clearly t was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened, and don't worry, if anyone asks, it didn't." I cross my arms, the only defense I have against this gnawing guilt. "You're off the hook."

"So that's how it is, huh?"

I hate myself for missing the contact the second he pulls back, more than I hate myself for what I've done. "What do you want me to say?"

"It's okay, I get it," he nods, lips curled upwards in a bitter smirk. There's a loaded silence hanging on the guillotine between us, and for a second I think he's going to say something that changes things, or prove me wrong. I'm half hoping he will. Except he doesn't, and so I slip around him to leave. "Yeah for the record though," he calls at the last minute. "It was never a mistake for me."

What I want to say is that it was the best night I've had in a long time, that it's never been like that with anyone but him. I'm grappling desperately for a way to convey why it would be stupid to get involved, how it's different for girls. Rigo and me had history, not all of it good, but it wasn't all bad either. What happened the other night was just from the high of a great night out. I had a drink or two after the cleanup, maybe we could chalk it up to poor, inebriated decisions. I don't know, anything to take this sting off of our friendship. But there was venom involved now, deep enough beneath the skin that either way, somebody would get hurt. I wanted to tell him that it was just too messy, and that's the last thing we need before a tour. I don't say any of that, don't even get the chance, because I can already hear the rumbling of his car peeling out of the lot. Instead, I pick my jaw up off the floor and set my course homeward, more than ready to slip into my bed and push this day further than far behind me.

...

I'm only two drinks in when I send the first text. It's something about how  _I've been thinking_ , and I  _know he probably has his reasons, so I shouldn't have said what I said._  I text him again to tell him  _he's right_ , and that  _we probably need to talk things over._  He reads it almost immediately, so I pour another mix while I wait for him to reply. Except he doesn't. I down it all in one go, leaving my a burning sensation creeping down my throat, and my hands free to fly over the keys.

_**Poppy** : you really not gon say nothin?_

**8:58pm**

_**Poppy:**  Dre c'mon, I'm sorry_

**9:05pm**

_**Poppy:**  I didn't mean what happened between us was a mistake, you know that right?_

**9:09pm**

_**Poppy :**  it shouldn't have happened LIKE THAT, and that's the truth. But it was the best thing that's happened to me in a long time_

**9:12pm**

" _Read_ " shows up in tiny grey font beside each message as I send it. I toss the lifeless scrap of technology onto the couch beside me, ambling towards the kitchen. I don't mean to get fucked up, but it's not long before I'm mixing myself another. There's a restless buzz in the air, charged and uneasy, like the skin on my bones doesn't fit right. I fiddle my hands through my hair as I pray to God he doesn't shut me out forever. Before I sit down I top off the fizzing drink, splashing a tad more whiskey into the coke than before. I cringe as it ripples over my tongue, but I'm committed now; Mama didn't raise no quitter, after all. The phone feels too solid in my palm as I work up another text, ignoring the unread mark above Rigo's name. Every second Dre leaves me to sink deeper into the waves of uncertainty, the greater my frustration crashes down.

_**Poppy:**  Are you kidding me Dondre_

**9:21pm**

_**Poppy:**  I'm not a hit n quit, you can't just act like I don't exist_

**9:26**

The last drink crashes into my nerves like a derailed train car. A steady trickling of ideas filter through my head, easy enough to push into the background. For a while, at least. But the stronger the humming in my veins, the more persistent they become, and it's not long before I'm wobbling my way towards my bedroom mirror. Reasonably, I know that shouldn't, that's it's fuel to the flame, but if I have any doubts, I drown them in the measly remnants of my glass. He clearly thinks that he's going to act like he can't remember who I am to him, but maybe a refresher will rile up a response. So, like any great performer, I set the stage. Dimming the lights, and curving out my hips, I take it a bit further. Shakey hands slip my shirt lower until it's revealing a little more chest. I purse my lips and set my ochre eyes to smoldering before I snap a few quick pictures with the front facing lens. It's fast work weeding through the bad ones, then I'm hitting send with a smug grin on my lips. He reads it, and I nearly laugh out loud when the desired chat bubbles appear. Fine hairs at the nape of my neck prickle in anticipation as three dots click over the bottom of the screen. Several seconds pass after they've vanished altogether before I realize that whatever he wrote, he must have immediately deleted. I frown, debating whether I should just leave this whole thing be.

Except...

If showing a little breast got me almost a reply, what could I get if I showed him a lot more than that? It wasn't using sex against him, or selling myself out or nothing. But this was Dondre, my ride or die, and if it would get me results, then that's all that really mattered right now. It's not long before I'm dressed down to the bare minimum, standing in a shallow pool of abandoned fabric. Looking in the mirror, it doesn't seem like it's quite enough. I rifle through the top left compartment on my dresser, my underwear drawer, until my fingers tangle into a wad of sleek black material. That's the one, I muse, quickly digging around for the matching top. Once I'm as dressed as I plan to be, I flip my hair back and forth over my head a few times until it has a ruffled, just-fucked quality.

"Damn girl, you know you look good," I sing brightly at the goddess staring back at me. Lifting my phone, I line it up with the mirror again, tilting until it captures all the right curves in all the right ways. "And send. Ignore me now, boy."

This time he doesn't read it right away, and I wonder if he seriously just got so sick of me that he went to sleep. All the air huffs out of my lungs in a fury, the whole mess crushing pieces of my soul I hadn't been aware of until now. I fucked up. Like.. seriously fucked up. My life suddenly feels unnatural, as though I've been carrying a massive burden for so long that I forgot what it feels like to stand upright. Every inch of my spine is in misalignment, hunched and broken, supporting someone who's become unrecognizable. Refusing to cry over a man, I know there's only one thing that will get me out of my head and, hopefully, out of my feelings as well. Purposeful strides carry me back to the living room, where I shove the couch back and push the coffee table to the opposite wall. I take a hot minute to create a perfect playlist, syncing the music on my phone up to the Bluetooth speaker Rigo got me for Christmas. When the pulsing rhythm floods over the room, I dive into it headfirst.

The movements feel sloppy and jagged, but I don't care. I'm jagged too, because the clock hasn't ticked by properly since I let myself go in the wrong pair of arms. When the beat changes, something bouncing and heavy now, I lose myself entirely. It's blasting so loud that I don't hear the blue El Camino rumbling up the driveway. I miss the frantic knocks on the front door, and the breathy gasp in the archway. I dance through it, rediscovering every single inch of myself as it grinds out the dissatisfaction. It does, however, take particular note of the pained voice muttering through the dark room.

"You expecting me or something," he rasps.

And I scream. Not the cute, girlish cries you see in movies either. It's the type that happens when your soul leaves your chest, kicking and clawing as it pulls itself back home.

"Damn, you scared the shit outta me," I declare, as though he can't read it on my face, see it in my stance. Like I didn't just unleash the kind of horrified wailing you'd expect when you break and enter in the ghetto, or sneak up on someone dancing alone in their underwear.

"I did knock," he laughs. "I could hear the music though, so I figured.."

The tiny shrug is so mindless, so exceptionally Dondre that it's almost easy again. I allow myself, just for a second, to believe there's no bad blood here. Nothing but he and I, and the music still thumping around us. I'm caught off guard when his feet shift over the cheap carpet, his hips circulating in smooth, relaxed movements. All the edge has drained from him since we last talked, and he's a whole new person than he was several short hours ago. The thing is, I'm not feeling quite so sane, so sober, so myself, and I tell him as much, without words. Our silent battle is epic, his arms pulling me in, decidedly unapologetic, and mine keeping him at length. Three songs pass in the same manner before he has my back against the wall with nowhere to run. But the hurt now has nowhere left to hide either, and it takes ownership of the conversation.

"Seems like you got a lot to say, so why don't you go ahead and say it." He notes, a hint of amusement slick on his face. "You wanna talk, let's talk." I roll my eyes at him.

"Oh  _now_  you wanna talk? You been leaving me on read and shit, boy bye."

"That's not your fault-"

"Oh I know that's not my fault," I cut in.

"And I don't plan on leaving one immature fuckboy for another."

"I'm not." I make to shove him off, but he holds me steady. "Hey. Look at me," he pleads. I shake my head, smaller than ever. "C'mon, Pop don't be like that. Listen, I had something I needed to take care of first, alright?"

"I've heard that before. I must have 'play me, I'm stupid' written on my damn head, because I really thought you were different."

"I  _am!_  But we've been friends ever since we was little kids, and I don't want to do anything that might fuck that up." I'm taken back by his intensity, all the fight sapping from my weak muscles. "I had to be sure that I was doing the right thing. By both of us."

Two fingers tilt up my chin, forcing the intimacy I've been both dreading and aching for. "Everything is already so messed up," I whisper.

"Yeah."

My voice is desperate now, low. Needy. "You have to know that I don't regret us, just how it went down."

"I know" he nods, eyes dipping toward my lips. I flick my tongue subconsciously, wetting them. All too late, I'm hoping he didn't notice. "So.. We good?"

"We good, it's just.." There's only one thing left unsettled. "I still have to clear the air with Rigo."

He nods, my gaze trapped under his blazing stare. "I'll be here for you when you do."

"No it's fine," I sigh. " That'll just invite bitches to talk. Besides, on the real, things have been over with us for a while. Bout time we admit it." A sly smile tilts the corners of my lips. "Plus there's somebody I had my eye on lately."

Laughter whooshes out of him, thick and low and dipped in honey. "Just lately, huh?"

"Something like that."

"Well whoever he is, I can't imagine he'd complain" he chuckles. It takes all I have not to close the insignificant distance to press my lips to his. I wonder if he's thinking it too, but I don't dare to ask him.

"I hope not. Because I'm not looking for no hook-up; if we're doing this then let's do it."

"I'm all in with you, Miss Martinez," he slurs, fluttering a gentle kiss on my forehead. The cells in my body are practically screaming for him, gravitating nearer. But he pulls away, dropping his arms so I'm no longer caged between him and the faded blue paint. It's both a relief and grievance. He sounds pained as he murmurs, "I should go."

I'll see him tomorrow, I think, which is not what I say. "You don't have to."

"Yeah," he groans, swiping his palms over his eyes. It tugs the skin, making him look more tired than ever. All it takes from him is a quick glance down my body, and then I'm flushed several unflattering shades of fuschia as I cover everything I'd exposed, all too aware of the ache between my thighs. "I really do." I trail behind him, snagging the breezy blanket dangling over the arm of the couch. He soaks in the gesture, leaving me feeling more naked than when I almost was.

"You gonna get shy on me now?"

I simply shrug, earning another delicious bell of laughter that has me weak in the knees.

"Outta curiosity, all this for me?" He gestures with one hand down the length of my body. There's a dark glint in his eyes that melts away my vocal chords.

"Is that why you came?" I shoot back, avoiding the answer.

"Nah, it's not like that," he says between the two fingers framing his chin.

Feeling brave, or reckless, I step into his space, dropping the sheath to the floor. "What's it like then?"

For a split second he's frozen, lost in the sight of me. Then something inside him snaps, his resolve maybe. "It's like I'm on fucking fire, or I can't breathe or something. You know how guilty I feel for always thinking of you?" He backs me up into the frame of the archway, advancing until there's nothing but his soft cotton t-shirt keeping our skin apart. "Been wondering if it's eating you up all these years too. You know it hasn't left my mind since we.. I've got a constant reel playing in my head, nothing but Poppy. But I didn't come for your body," he whispers, breath scalding the shell of my ear. Thick fingers leave goosebumps in the wake of their ghostly caress down the side of my arms. "I came here for you."

"Dre.." I tilt my neck to the side, an offering, even though I know I shouldn't.

Cool fingertips dig into my waist, and I can't tell if he's pulling me closer or holding me back. I'm hardly registering the way my hands are snaking up and down his chest and back, or the slow keening sound when he sucks at the spot beneath my earlobe. One of his hands braces himself on the wall above my head while the other hikes my knee where his belt sits. It's the perfect angle to grind into him, my core seeking friction against the hardening bulge there. It's not quite enough to relieve the ache, but it's a different kind of euphoric. He chokes out a growl, his face buried in my hair, and then his free hand is roaming my body. Tension coils low in my gut when he pushes his hips into mine, winding them twice before snapping forward. I try, and fail, to swallow my whimpers, but then1 wandering digits slip smoothly beneath my panties, and I can't fight it. I'm so sick of fighting this, that I'm not sure I ever wanted to in the first place. He pulls back, his face levelling with mine to soak in every reaction he pulls from me as he swipes up the wetness and brings it up to my clit. "Shit, Poppy. You're so fucking.. Is this what you wanted from me," he purrs, circling the spot I need him most. "Why you're sending me pics like that?" My head falls back, hitting the wall.

"Quit playing," I beg, trying to wiggle him to the right place.

"Tell me."

"Dre."

He moves lower, teasing my entrance, his voice so serious my breath hitches. "I want you to say it, because if this shit blows up tomorrow there's no turning back. I'm not playing this hot and cold with you, Pops."

"I want this."

"You're going to have to try harder than that," he goads, adding the tiniest bit of pressure.

"I want you." He pushes one finger as deep as he can at this angle, but doesn't move. "I want us. This. I need-"

He doesn't wait for me to tell him what I need, providing it expertly like his hands were made to draw every ounce of pleasure they can find buried behind my high walls. Like everything else with him, this is easy, as natural as the dawn rises, or breathing. When I fall to pieces halfway between the front door and the living room, Dondre's name tumbles from my lips like a broken prayer.


	3. Transgressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You didn't really think their happy second would last, did you? HAH. You must not know me very well because I'm one of 'those.'
> 
> "All about the teasing and not about the pleasing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope if anyone starts on this fic that you've kept reading this far. It's not much, but it's dear to me. I love this High Water family, and everything they've done to show us fans their love.
> 
> Fingers crossed on many more seasons to come, because I don't know what I'd do without them. The step up films raised me, they were the first films I ever saw in theater and I did yard work for my neighbors so I could have enough money to take my brothers and my mom. That it's a TV show how means everything. Anyway, nobody asked for my history, you're here (hopefully) for the story. So, read on Kid.

**"** HEY POPS OPEN UP!"

It takes several foggy-brained attempts for it to register the disturbance. Once it clicks, the comedown is abrupt, crashing full throttle into the ground as Rigo's excited voice carries through the wood of the door.

" **Shit** ," we mutter in unison.

Then several things become immediately, inescapably, and irreparably clear. The first is that Dondre still has his hands in me, which is as illicitly incriminating as the sweaty scent of sex lingering in the air. When Dondre bursts out from his panic-induced coma, he hastily rips himself away. Trembling fingers seek out to tug at tan coloured skinny jeans in vain hope of settling the blooming erection beneath. It doesn't really seem to be working, but there's definitely nothing I can do to help. Instead, I'm spinning on shakey legs and booking it for my bedroom as the second revelation dawns, which is that _there's no good way to explain to your boyfriend why you're dressed like a hoe in front of another dude._ Especially not his best friend. I coast through my scattered mind for all I'm worth, but not a single plausible excuse comes to mind. Probably because there isn't one. I jerk on the first pair of sweats I see, prattling through the closet for a loose crop top. Once I'm decent, we arrive at problems three and four. As soon as I open that door, at this hour, Rigo is going to wonder why Dondre is here. It won't help our case that I haven't been texting him back, or that he knows all too well what I look like ruffled and flushed. He wasn't stupid, and dumber boys than Rigo could do that math with their eyes closed.

Seemingly coming to the same bleak conclusions, Dondre shoots towards what I assume is my bedroom. He snatches the Bluetooth speaker and my phone, cranking it up at the back of the house seconds before I swing the door open. With a mostly reasonable story already half-baked, I do my best to plaster a cool mask over my jittery nerves. And then there he is in the doorway, the one I've betrayed by following my wandering heart. But he doesn't know -how could he?- so he sweeps me up into a suffocating hug. Familiar lips showers me in kisses, which I return half-heartedly, knowing full well just how much I definitely don't deserve any of them. A sickly sensation niggles at the back of my throat, and I find myself itching to pull away. Cuddling into him doesn't feel the same as it used to, and the taste is off, though that could be the bile rising over my tongue. I wonder, briefly, if he can smell the transgressions on my skin like I can, if Dondre left any traces of himself behind. If he did, they go unnoticed.

"Hey baby, whatchu been doin?" His eyes scan the room expectantly, searching for someone he already knows is inside. And _Oof_ , I think, _Dondre's car._

"Rehearsing," I lie smoothly, leaning in to peck his lips again. Whether it's out of habit, or just a distraction technique is hard to say. I tilt my head vaguely, hoping I don't look as anxious as I feel. "Dre's in the back helping out. What you doing here, you should have called."

Rigo shoots me an incredulous look. "Baby, I have been! I got some big news too, I just had to tell you." He shimmies forward, punching his opposite palm with one hand. "So, you gonna invite me in, or am I crashing the party?"

If you could hear a heart crumble, it would have instantly given me away. He was so buoyant and lively, with warms eyes full of trust. A blind faith that I had willingly stomped on, several times now. I remember my words to Dondre, and I'm torn to pieces. Maybe it was just a rough patch with Rigo, and this new side of him that only wanted to treat me like a queen was here to stay. Maybe all that East-O shit was nothing to front about, and he'd pawn it off on someone who knew it better. But on the other hand.. what was it Dondre had said the other night? Something about how Rigo was always going to be getting into trouble, because people were going to be who they are regardless of everything else. So I suppose that ' _maybe_ ' isn't enough to bet on when lives are at stake. I step aside anyway, knowing that there's no better time to do this. _I've already decided_ , I remind myself. I just have to say the words and cut the cord.

"So listen, me and King struck a deal with that label rep Sage brought out."

I feign excitement, my chest cavity caving in with each syllable. "Wow that's amazing. Wait, you mean that bitch Nine or whatever?"

Rigo practically sings, jumping forwards to shake some sense through shoulders. "Yeah, yeah! She got my song bopping on the radio today, it was crazy! I never felt that kinda high before. And look, she wants to get us on the label soon as this tour thing is moving on. This could be it Pop!"

"Whassup brother," quips a low voice behind me. "What's this I hear about you coming up?"

Dondre slinks from the shadows, looking a thousand times more collected than I feel. He pulls Rigo into a side hug, then they both pump their fists twice against their chest before snapping it out quickly. It's then that I remember that although Rigo and I have history, so do me and Dondre. Every step of the way, through all the bullshit and the good times in life, and this on-again-off-again relationship, he's been there. I've always had his open ears ready to listen, or his advice as a little nudge in the right direction. Dondre was like safe haven to let the walls down without fear of judgement. All those times at his parties while he made his rounds, pausing just long enough to brace a hand against my back, or whisper a compliment in my ear. Every time he popped by to steal a dance, leaving me giddy and grinning and confident. Nobody, not even Rigo, has ever made me feel like that. Especially not so effortlessly, like it was ingrained into his very being, a character trait that no amount of unfortunate circumstances could pound it out of him. So maybe this thing isn't so new after all. In fact, seems like it may have actually been a long time coming, when you looked at it like that. But after all we've been through, I doubted that Rigo would see it in that light..

"Only big things, my man," Rigo quips smoothly. "I'm on some superstar shit right now. King and me, we bout to strike gold up in this bitch, you feel me?"

I feel Dre's eyes flicker sideways, like he can't stop himself from checking up on me. "That right?" he laughs, focusing back on Rigo.

They talk a bit about the deal, and Rigo tries to hustle the taller man into throwing just one more party to feature his album. Finally, they exhaust the subject, Dondre dropping it off with a light-hearted "yeah we'll see." Rigo makes himself right at home, blissfully unaware of the tension on the sidelines, and we follow suit. Dondre walks on eggshells around the lip of the archway, settling on the armchair rather than the sofa beside Rigo. For a moment I think about sitting there, but find that I can't make myself move no matter how hard I try. My fingers twist around each other, digging the fingernails on my left hand under the ones on the right, clearing out the blackish gunk smudged beneath them. When I can't take it anymore I offer drinks, ambling away to fetch the desired soda for Rigo. I can hear him still rambling animatedly from the kitchen, so I pause to lean against the sink thinking how this entire fucked up situation is on a fast downward spiral, with no way off the ride. I know what needs to be done, but how much was I supposed to share without hurting Rigo too much? The feral animal trapped inside me uses the stolen free time to try and breathe deeply, but the moment of relief is short lived.

"Rigo got a phone call, so," Dondre rasps as he enters the kitchen. "I think I'll just take some water."

"Help yourself," I grumble, waving a hand towards the far cupboard, where the glasses are kept. His hand rests on the handle before he checks over his shoulder. I nod, and he stretches easily to retrieve one from its perch on the top shelf. I do my best to ignore the way his shirt rises with the motion, flashing me a tantalizing peek at his abdomen. He stalks slowly towards the tap, leaning beside me to fill his cup. Somehow, Dondre makes drinking water sexy. Thirsty eyes watch as he gulps it down, making his Adams Apple Bob with each swallow. He places the empty tumbler in the sink, and presses his hips against the ledge, mimicking my posture. Finally, I address the elephant in the room, my tone low. "What do I tell him?

"Congrats, seems like a good starting point."

"I'm serious!"

"I don't know," he breathes. "What have you always told him before?"

I raise a brow at him. "Clearly nothing that's worked."

"Yeah well that was then," he grins, despite himself. He slides a little closer, almost too close. "Things are a bit different this time."

My smile matches his, fingers reaching for his white cotton shirt of their own accord. I barely stop myself, thinking better of it, and I smack him playfully across the stomach instead. "Yeah I guess."

"You guess," he repeats, catching the hand. I melt, willing my muscles to retract the limb.

I rephrase the question. "How much do I tell him?"

Dondre sighs, letting our hands fall back against the countertop. "Tell him as much, or as little as you want. We'll figure it it out."

"Yeah I know, but I just don't want nobody getting hurt. Even if we've never really worked, doesn't mean I don't still care about him." I feel guilty for even thinking it, much less saying it out loud. I expect an outburst, or bitter hints of jealousy, but instead I'm met with Dondre's gentle fingers brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Like I said, we'll figure it out." He crooks his index and bops it under my chin. The touch lingers, slightly too long, his gaze settling low on my face and making my breath hitch.

"Oh my bad, am I interrupting something?" We both shoot backwards as if we've been burned. Rigo paces partway into the kitchen, his features a devastating mixture of disbelief and betrayal.

"We're not-"

"It wasn't-"

"Yo are y'all serious right now?" The accusation thunders through the walls, ringing true in our guilty expressions. "Tell me I am not seeing what I think I'm seeing."

"Rigo I-"

"Go on, lie to me again," He roars, cutting me off.

"Things didn't go down how you think man, you're my boy." Dondre urges, his voice sure and level.

"Oh things went down. Well enlighten me," he chuckles, waving his hand invitingly over the room. "What type of things went down?"

The blood drains from Dondre's skin and he clenches his jaw, staring somewhere over Rigo's head. Rigo punches his fist into his palm. "Right, right, yeah, you my boy, like you said. Well so since we boys and all, tell me this then; you been fuckin my girl, dawg?" There's a hint of a smirk on his face, devoid of all humor. It's not really his, but rather a perfect recreation of his father's.

"I would never mean you no disrespect," Dondre mutters lamely.

"Oh I see, so y'all two have been fucking respectfully behind my back," Rigo laughs. He steps as close to Dondre as he can, until the latter has to go almost cross-eyed to see down his face. "Don't worry, it's all good, homey. You want my backwash nigga? Drink up then."

He turns, brushing past me with a scowl. "Ain't nothing but a used up hoe anyway," he spits.

Rigo saunters out the way he came in, only the glee has been stolen from his steps and his shoulders are quaking. He arrived with glitter in his eyes, but he's spitting fire and blood now, angry and hurt and a little roughed up at the edges. But I know that he isn't showing all his cards, hardly even half of them, and that it's not my business to care anymore. Dondre leaves shortly after, his face stoic and cold. I don't chase after either of them, choosing instead to cry in the shower and wash the stench of regret away. It doesn't help.

I know deep down that my decision, while shady, comes from the right place. So why does it eat away at me for hours? How come all I can think about is Rigo's crushed expression, and the glimpses of good in our relationship peeking through all the terrible until the sun comes up? When I drag myself out of bed for a brand new day I think, for the billionth time, that perhaps I made a horrendous, tragic, irreversible mistake.

  


* * *

  


  
Effects, good and bad, tend to ripple out in waves. My first clue that the tides have turned makes itself known when Dondre doesn't show up. I fumble my way through another round of training with a murky conscience, battling that toxic little voice at the back of my mind. It's the familiar trap, a thin line on a snare wrestling me back into Rigo's arms despite all the bullshit he's ever put me through. But it's different this time, because he didn't do anything wrong, not really. He was in a dark place, and I left him to drown. His life was currently nothing but deep waters, an unruly sea of pain and loss. I can't imagine what it would be like learning that all these years he's had a brother right under his nose. Dondre and I had the nerve to add betrayal into the mix, and it tipped the scales into a hurricane. We swept him off his feet just as he began picking himself back up out of the dirt.  
It doesn't surprise me too much to find out that word spreads quicker than spilled milk around here. Whether the salty stares cut from the admirers of Rigo or Dondre is hard to say, but they do their job in making me feel filthy. For all the times I was in his current shoes, feeling how he must be feeling, I never wished it on Rigo.

What _does_ surprise me is the unanimous bleeps and chimes cascading around the room, and the message that comes with it. Big party tonight, and I recognize Rigo's address. But that's Dondre's name on the invite, and it's not adding up no matter which way I work it. Until that sneaky little devil whispers more obscene ideas, like how maybe they were playing me the whole time. How the two of them clearly picked bros before hoes sometime between now and last night's explosion, which is exactly what I was to them. My gut hits the floor and my throat runs dry. I swallow down the desert as best I can, though it seems to be a lost cause.

"Poppy wait up," Tal calls, jogging to meet me on my hazy trek through to door.

"Hey."

He holds his phone face up for me to read, the invite crisp and clear on his screen. "You're going right?

"Nah, not in the mood for it."

"Not in the mood for a Dondre party? Since when?"

I shrug in response, hoping he'll drop it. It seems to deter him for a whiy, so I just nod absentmindedly as he prattles on about this and that, following in step with that big goofy grin. The sound of my name jerks me back to reality. "What?"

Tal rolls his eyes, repeating himself. "I said that Sage already found out about the first one, so this was pretty risky, even for Dondre. Especially with ditching training to set up."

I nod again, though he looks at me expectantly for details. I throw up my arms. "Don't look at me, boys are stupid. I have no idea what he's thinking."

"You have no idea," he mutters skeptically. "You two have been practically joined at the hip since the Luau. Plus.." he trails off, so I whirl to face him. His voice is soft, even while his hands raise in defense. "Look, people talk, alright? Come on, tell me what's going on?"

My eyes reduce to suspicious slits. "You free for a while?"

"I've got nothing up," he grins.

First I fill him in on the East-O drama while we walk to his house. He grabs a quick shower and tosses on fresh clothes, and I sit in the bathroom running through the details. I'm grateful for the empty house, feeling free to air my dirty laundry without judgement. Being around Tal was just like that; no bullshit, especially with his genuine, hard-hitting advice. Once he's dressed he shoots a quick text to Davis, saying he'll be out tonight and to tell uncle Al not to wait up. Then he's all nods and ears while I'm mapping out the complex timeline that I don't think I've ever spoken aloud. By the end of it I'm a hopeless, soggy mess, but it felt good just to get it out there.

"You wanna know what I think," he asks. I glance at him sideways, because definitely it couldn't hurt. "I think that you did what was best for you, and that's awesome. But you did it in the complete wrong way. I'm not exactly the guy's biggest fan, but even I know that was really uncool." He gulps a little, no doubt unsure of how his words will be recieved. "But I think you know that," he presses on. "And I think you know that you have to fix it."

"That's the thing," I choke. "I have no clue _how_ to fix this mess."

Tal drags me into a warm hug, encasing me in unadulterated friendship. "Well it can't get worse," he points out. "Give it time to settle and then do whatever it takes to make it right."

I nod against his humid chest, pulling back slightly. A sticky string of snot follows the motion, and we both errupt in a fit of giggles.

"I love you, but that's disgusting," he teases. His skin is flushed a brilliant shade of red.

"I love you too." I point at the dark patch on his shirt. "And there's your proof."

We giggle some more, packing up and heading towards my house next. For the first time in over two weeks, the pressure slips through the cracks, and I remember what it's like to breathe. While he may not have been my first choice for a friend, I'm damn grateful that the lanky Greyhound weaseled his way in anyway.  



End file.
